


The Space Between

by darenotlove



Series: SNAFUBAR [3]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Hanson, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darenotlove/pseuds/darenotlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of weeks ago, I asked people on Twitter if there were any SNAFU/FUBAR moments that had been referenced but not written about that they would like to see elaborated on. Or any moments written about from Tay's POV that they'd like to read about from Tommy's POV, and vice versa. Alexis (musicgirl09), said she'd like to see snippets from the year that Tommy and Taylor spent apart, written from Tommy's POV. This suggestion started sparking lots of little ideas for me, and I'm going to attempt to write them down. I don't know how many of them will make it to A03, or how long it'll be between updates. </p><p>I'm going to write them in the order they "happened", and I've decided to start on day 1 (where else?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

_ Burbank, California - June 20th, 2011 _

 

When my dad died, it was hands down the worst thing that had _ever_ happened to me.

It's hard to pinpoint a moment from that time to label as the _single_ worst moment of my life; there were plenty to choose from. Finding out that he was gone was the easy part, because I was in too much shock to really feel it. I listened as my big sister tried to inform me that our dad was dead, but she broke down before she could finish the sentence. It didn't matter, though, I knew what she was trying to say. Even though none of it made any fucking sense, I _knew_ that he was gone. But it was like my brain couldn't really process it.

It didn't really hit me until I got home. The second I saw my mom's face, _that's_ when it became real. That was the moment I first felt the loss. And after that I kept feeling it over and over, in every way you can possibly imagine. From helping to pick out a casket, to planning the funeral, to planning the wake, to watching my mom and my sister burst into tears every five fucking minutes...

Yeah, it was the worst thing I'd _ever_ experienced.

And yet somehow, _this_ hurts so much more.

I feel like I just told Taylor that _his_ dad is dead. The look on his face right now reminds me of how I felt when I got that phone call. The confusion, the denial, the helplessness...

Fuck, _why_ am I doing this to him?!

Why am I doing this to _myself_?

What's wrong with me? What is _so_ fucking wrong with me that I would do this to someone I love?

 _No_.

I _can't_ think like that. I _have_ to do this.

It's better this way. It's better for him. If I don't do this, everything is going to get _so_ much more fucked up. This isn't going to work, it's going to fall apart. He's going to lose _everything_ , and it's going to be because of me. Because he thought I was something special.

Well I'm fucking _not_!

I can't let him give up his career for me, his _kids_ ; I'm never going to be enough to make it worthwhile. I'm never going to be enough to fill the void left by everything he'll lose if I let him stay. He thinks I'm all he needs, and that's all romantic as shit and everything, but it's such a fucking _lie_.

And yeah, okay, so is everything I'm saying to him right now...

But at least my lie is going to stop him from ruining his whole damn life!

Even though I can barely feel my own fucking legs right now, I somehow manage to make myself take a step forwards. And then another. I see a flash of fear in his eyes, like he's afraid of me. I can't really blame him for that, though, can I? I just broke his fucking heart. He's probably terrified of what gut-wrenching, soul-sucking misery I'm gonna bestow on him next.

I reach down to pick his wedding ring and his Hanson ring up off of the floor. They feel heavier than any rings I've ever held, but I know it's all in my head. Everything feels heavier, harsher, harder than it should. Moving, talking, breathing... it all just fucking _sucks_.

He doesn't so much as flinch as I gently take his hand in mine, placing the rings safely into his open palm before closing his fingers around them. I feel as though I just handed him a fucking life sentence. I feel like the cruelest person on the planet, and that feeling only intensifies when I force myself to look at him again.

He's just staring at his hand, like he doesn't understand what I just did or why. He doesn't understand anything right now. My fingers tighten around his hand as I try like hell to resist the overwhelming urge I have to pull him closer, to hold him.

To keep him.

I _can't_.

"I wish I was everything you thought I was..." I murmur weakly, struggling to maintain some kind of composure, to keep up this act. "I'm just _not_."

I'm not the answer. I'm not the person he thinks I am, the person he _needs_ me to be.

I'm not enough.

I don't know how I convinced myself to let go of his hand, but I'm watching it fall from my grasp, so I guess I must have. And I try not to think about the fact that I'll probably never get to touch him again. That was it. That was the last time...

It's done.

We're over.

 _Fuck_.

I don't want him to go, it's the absolute fucking _last_ thing I want. But at the same time, I wish he'd leave so that I can stop pretending that this isn't fucking _killing_ me. I can't keep this up much longer, it _hurts_! I _need_ him to go before I give myself away.

"I can't believe this is happening." He says, his voice so hushed and choked that it almost sounds like a whisper.

But as quiet as it was, it may as well have been a scream. It almost shatters me completely. "I'm sorry..."

It's the most pathetic thing I could have possibly said to him in this moment. It's _so_ fucking meaningless. But it's still the truth. I _am_ sorry I let things get this far. I'm sorry I let him think we could have a future. I'm sorry I never seriously considered what would happen if he left his wife for me. I never thought about it because I never thought he'd do it! And then he did, and it was _everything_ I wanted... until I started thinking about what the hell it actually meant for _him_. What it would do to him.

Trying to steal him from his family is without question the most selfish thing I've _ever_ done. He probably thinks that this is the selfish part, though. Giving him back to them, _sending_ him back like some unwanted gift.

It couldn't be further from the truth.

I've never wanted anyone so much. I've never loved anyone so much. But that's _why_ I have to do this! I know, it's fucked up, and it barely makes sense. But it _is_ the right thing to do. It's the right thing for him, even if he can't see it. _I_ can see it. It's like some twisted game show where he has to choose a door to walk through, and whatever is on the other side of the door is what he'll be stuck with for the rest of his life. He doesn't know what's behind any of the doors, but I do. I can see what he'll wind up with if he chooses me.

It's the _wrong_ door.

Keeping my hands at my sides and my mouth shut as I watch him walk away is almost impossible. I've got myself fucking bound and gagged. The selfish part of me is kicking and _screaming_ , but for once it's not getting it's way. For once I'm doing the right thing, no matter how fucking wrong it feels.

The second the door clicks shut behind him I realize what I've done. It's like being snapped out of a trance or woken from a bad dream, and suddenly my entire body is flooded by panic and regret. I race after him like a goddamn idiot. But being a goddamn idiot, I don't make it any further than the door. I don't even fucking _open_ it. My fingers closes around the handle, but instead of turning it I just stand here and squeeze it until my hand hurts. I seriously feel like I'm possessed or something. Something has taken over my body, and I'm not strong enough to fight it. I can't do what I want to do, I can't say what I want to say...

Eventually, I force myself to let go of the door handle, and I hurry over to the window so that I can look down at the street and see if he's still here. My heart jumps as I watch him get into his rental car, and I mumble pleas under my breath for him to stay, for him to get back out of the car, and come back up to the apartment, and call me on all of the lies I just told him. I might not be able to make myself go after him, but maybe, just _maybe_ if he comes back on his own then my fucked up conscience will give up on all of this "doing the right thing" bullshit. If he comes back on his own, it's a sign that he's _supposed_ to stay.

_Please come back._

**_Please_ ** _come back._

I can barely hear the sound of the car engine coming to life, but it's enough. It's enough to bring my racing heart to a screeching halt. And watching as he pulls away from the curb and disappears down the street is enough to send it plummeting. I run back to the door, but just like last time I feel totally fucking incapable of opening it! I'm trapped, locked up in this apartment while he leaves. He's getting further and further away with every passing second, I can fucking _feel_ it.

What have I done?

Fuck, what have I _done_?!

Next thing I know, I'm trying to break the fucking door down. At least that's what it feels like I'm doing as I furiously kick at it and pound my fits against it, all the while screaming senseless streams of obscenities. I don't remember the last time I hit anything, not for real anyway. Apparently I was saving it all up for this moment.

I'm kind of amazed that there isn't so much as a scratch or a scuff on the surface of the door when my arms and legs finally fail me. It just makes me feel even worse, even more pathetic. But I don't have the energy left to go another round.

I don't have anything left; I feel entirely empty.

And I've got no one to blame for that but myself.

Because of my lack of energy, and my total fucking patheticness (I know that's not a goddamn word, fuck off), I end up sitting on the floor with my back against the door. Just... staring. Watching something that's not actually happening. Not right now, anyway. I keep seeing it playing out in front of me, over and over.  

 _"What's going on?"_ He asks me anxiously. _"Is everything okay?"_

I will my past-self to tell him yes. To let the whole, stupid "doing the right thing" thing go and just be fucking _happy_. It was all I wanted to do in that moment, but I wouldn't let myself. And even though I know nothing I do right now can change what's already been done, I still sit here and silently _plead_ for a different ending.

But instead, I hear myself say, _"I can't do this."_

Motherfucker!

I _could_ have done it. I could have been with him. I could have spent my life with him; it was what we both wanted! All I had to do was _not_ lie to him and _not_ break his fucking heart! We could have made it work, we could have figured out a way to make everything okay. So what if everyone hated us, including his kids? They would've all gotten over it eventually! We would have been okay eventually if I'd just hung in there and fucking tried!

I didn't even _try_.

 _Shit_.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, _sh-_

"Ow!" I cry out, reeling from the sudden pain in the back of my head as the door viciously attacks me. "What the fuck?!"

"Good question!" Mike replies in bewildered amusement, waiting for me to crawl out of the way so that he can finish opening the door. "What the fuck are you doing down there?"

"Nothing." I mutter as I rub my pounding head with one hand and use the other to pull myself up off of the floor. "What're you doing home so damn early?"

"It's _not_ early, it's just after two. Same time I come home every day."

"Fuck. How did it get to be two already?"

"The magic of time?" He shrugs disinterestedly before disappearing into the kitchen with whatever takeout he got himself on his way home from work. The smell of it makes my empty stomach grumble, and at the same time it makes me want to hurl. "You hungry? I got extra."

Technically, yes, I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since sometime yesterday evening. But the idea of eating anything right now is entirely unappealing. "No, thanks."

"Well, I'll leave it in the fridge if you change your mind."

"Okay..." I mumble, the scene from this morning flickering back into focus on the other side of the room from me and holding me captive no matter how hard I try to turn and walk away.

_"I left everything for you!"_

_"Did you ever stop to think there might be a reason why I never fucking asked you to?!"_

I didn't ask him to because I was afraid. _That_ was the _only_ reason. I wanted to ask, _so_ fucking badly. Time after time after time, I forced myself to bite my tongue, often literally, to keep myself for outright fucking _begging_ him to leave everything behind and be with me. I _never_ thought he'd be able to do it, and I didn't want to hear him tell me that he couldn't. As long as he never said no, there was a _chance_.

At least, that's what my stupid heart kept telling my fucked up head.

But then he did leave everything behind to be with me, without me ever having to ask him. And what did I do? I ran in the opposite direction like the selfish fucking coward I am!

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Taylor's grief stricken face vanishes, and I find myself looking into the concerned eyes of my roommate instead. "Yeah... I'm fine."

"Are you drunk?"

Now _there's_ a good idea. "Not yet."

"It wasn't a suggestion." Chuckles Mike as I turn and make my way into the kitchen in search of some form of alcohol. "It's a little early to be drinking, even for _you_."

Whatever, Mike. "It's five-o-fucking-clock somewhere..."

Unfortunately for me, the only alcohol we have in the apartment right now is half a six-pack of Pabst, which is barely enough to get a good buzz going, let alone get me wasted to the point of unconsciousness. But it'll do. It's either this or dragging my sorry ass to a liquor store, which involves leaving the apartment, which is _not_ something I have any interest in doing anytime soon.

Maybe if I text Isaac later he'll take pity on me and bring me something stronger to drown my sorrows. Either that, or he'll give me some big speech on how drinking isn't gonna solve anything, and I should talk about my feelings, and blah, blah, fucking blah.

It could go either way with him.

I guess I could try to drink these three beers _really_ fast, so they all hit me at about the same time. I doubt it'll be enough to get me drunk, but it might be enough to get me drunk _er_ than if I'd just sat here on my bed all afternoon, sipping them like the sad sack of shit I am.

Either my genius idea actually works, or it's just a coincidence that I end up falling asleep right after draining the last drop of beer from the third can and tossing it over the side of my bed. But I feel like I've only been out for five fucking seconds before someone is banging on my bedroom door. I try to stuff my head under a pillow and ignore them, but it doesn't work. And when I fail to answer, they invite themselves in anyway.

"You've got a visitor."

I'm about to tell Mike to politely ask whoever it is to fuck off, when it occurs to me that it might be Taylor.

I know, I know, it's a long shot, and I'm a loser. But if there's even the slightest chance that it's him...

"Fuck."

"Expecting someone else?" Alex asks with a noticeable bite to his normally cheerful tone.

I sigh, every last shred of hope evaporating from my body. "No."

" _Hoping_ it'd be someone else, then?"

"Hoping it'd be _anyone_ else." I sneer in response to his clearly fake smile. "What're you doing here?"

"What do you think?"

"Right." Stupid fucking question. "I meant what makes you think it's _any_ of your fucking business?"

"When someone I care about gets hurt, I tend to make it my fucking business." He informs me, his forced smile suddenly nowhere to be seen. "What the fuck, Tommy? How could you fucking do that to him? You let him leave his wife and his kids-"

"I didn't _let_ him leave them! And I didn't fucking force him to, either!" I argue defensively, stalking off into the kitchen in search of more alcohol (even though I know there isn't any). "He _chose_ to leave-"

"For you! He left them for _you_!"

"I didn't _ask_ him to!"

"You didn't _need_ to! He _loves_ you, you asshole! He would have done any-fucking-thing for you! All he wanted was to be with you!"

"Yeah, well, maybe that's not what _I_ wanted, okay?" I lie, grateful that I can hide my head in the refrigerator so that he won't be able to see my face.

"Bullshit."

"Fuck you!" I slam the fridge door shut, causing several of the bottles inside to hit each other so hard that I wouldn't be surprised if one of them broke. But Alex doesn't even seem to notice.

The fucker isn't gonna back down.

Fuck my life.

 "Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't want him as much as he wanted you." He demands, taking a step closer to me. "Tell me it was all a fucking game to you."

I desperately want to take a step back, to keep my distance, to hide from him so he won't see the truth. But I know that if I move, if I so much as blink, he'll know the truth anyway.

"It _wasn't_ a game." I tell him through gritted teeth. "I _thought_ I wanted him. But-"

"But what? You woke up this morning and decided, 'nah, not so much'? Is that it?"

"Pretty much."

" _Bull. Shit_."

"Whatever!" I yell at him in frustration, throwing my hands up and shoving past him as I leave the kitchen. "Believe whatever the fuck you want, I don't fucking care."

"You do care! That's the point! I _know_ you care, I've _seen_ you with him-"

"Barely! You saw us together like _twice_! You don't know _shit_!"

"I saw the way you looked at him! I saw how messed up you were after what happened in Tulsa! I saw how much you _missed_ him! I even sat with you while you got _wasted_ on his birthday-"

Fuck. "That wasn't why I-"

"I _know_ you loved him, I know you wanted to be with him." He continues, and all I can do is fold my arms across my chest and shake my head like a defiant child. "What I _don't_ know is why the fuck you threw all that away when you finally had it!"

"Maybe because I _didn't_ want it!"

"Then what the hell _did_ you want? Tell me that!" I wanted Taylor. But there's no point in admitting that now. "Tell me why you led him on for a fucking _year_! Tell me why you let him fall for you, why you let it get this far, why you didn't end it _before_ he was so far gone over you that what you did today fucking _destroyed_ him!"

"It's not like I fucking planned this, alright? I never planned _any_ of this, and I sure as hell didn't plan on him leaving his wife for me! If I'd known he was gonna do something so fucking stupid, I would have stopped him before he had the chance!"

"Yeah, well, lucky for you, by tomorrow it'll probably be like it never even happened anyway."

I swear my body just got a whole hell of a lot colder, like my blood froze in my veins of something. I don't even know what he's talking about, exactly, and I get the feeling I don't want to. But that doesn't stop me from asking him like a fucking fool.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just left him at LAX." Declares Alex resentfully, like I did all of this just to screw _his_ life up somehow. "He's going back to her."

Even though it was what I thought he'd do, what I _hoped_ he'd do for himself and his kids, finding out that it's actually about to happen is more painful than I ever could have guessed it would be. I don't know why I wasn't more prepared for this; it's not a fucking surprise. I practically _told_ him to do it.

I got what I wanted.

"Good."

" _Good_?" He exclaims in total indignation. "You think it's _good_ that he's going back to a life he never wanted? A life that makes him fucking miserable? He never belonged there! _This_ was where he wanted to be, _always_ , this was where he belonged! He just never had a good enough reason to leave until now! _You_ were supposed to be  a good enough reason!"

"Well I'm _not_!"

"Obviously." He turns away from me, shaking his head as he stalks over to the door and yanks it open. "I can't believe I _ever_ thought you were gonna be good for him. All you did was fuck with his head and break his heart. It was the last thing he needed, and it was sure as hell the last thing he deserved."

I know.

With one last look of disgust, he pulls the door shut behind him so violently that I half expect a picture to fall off of the wall or something. But nothing happens. There's only silence. Too much silence. So much silence that it's actually a relief when Mike throws his bedroom door open and demands to know what the fuck all the yelling and door slamming was about. I half-heartedly apologize and assure him that it's over now, and he grumbles something I'm too lost in thought to even attempt to understand before he slams his own door shut.

So here I am, again.

In this hell hole of a haunted living room, again.

Alone, _again_.

I wonder if I'll ever be able to be in this room without seeing the tears in Taylor's eyes, the color draining from his face as I told him the biggest lie I've ever told _anyone_ in my whole damn life.

 _I don't love you_.

I didn't actually get to say it, he didn't let me finish, thank fuck. But it doesn't really matter. He _knew_ what I was going to say, we both did. Those words felt like bile rising up in my throat, I honestly don't know how I avoided throwing up when I said them. I felt sick to my stomach. I made myself sick.

In an attempt to escape the ghosts of my all-too-recent past, I retreat back to my bedroom. I'm way too awake now to be able to fall asleep again, but I throw myself onto the bed anyway. Face down, in case the universe is kind enough to let me smother myself.

God-fucking-damnit...

My fucking pillow smells like him!

My mind is suddenly assaulted by a thousand different memories of him. Stupid, random, pointless recollections of his smile, his laugh, the sound of his voice, and the playful little look he'd give me sometimes, the one that _always_ made me wanna jump on him no matter where we were. I can vividly remember the sensation of his fingertips on my skin, how soft his lips were, the way he tasted, the warmth of his breath against my neck, the weight of his body over mine...

Part of me wants to tear the sheets off of my bed and throw them into the laundry. Or maybe just burn them. But instead I find myself clutching the pillow even closer, breathing him in until I can't take anymore. I hold onto it for as long as I can, until I'm forced to breathe out, and somehow I manage to avoid exhaling the scream that's lodged in my throat. This pointless cycle continues for a while, but eventually I can barely breathe in at all and I'm forced to roll over and inhale some non-Taylor-scented air.

As I stare up at the stark white ceiling above me, waiting for my breathing to return to normal so that I can stuff my face back into my pillow and drown in him all over again, I hear Alex's scathing words echoing in my head. I can't shut them up, no matter how hard I try. He was right, everything he said was right. I can call him every name under the sun in the confines of my own head, I can tell myself that he has no idea what he's talking about, but deep down I know it's not true. He _did_ see everything he said he saw. It wasn't an act; I loved Taylor just as much as he loved me.

And because of me he's going back to Tulsa, back to a woman he doesn't love and a life he doesn't want.

Maybe it's not too late, though.

Maybe he's not on the plane yet. If I call him, if I tell him why I did what I did, maybe he'll come back...

I dig my iPhone out of the pocket of my jeans and swipe to unlock the screen before hitting the phone icon. But when I pull up my favorite contacts and go to tap on his name, I hesitate. I more than hesitate, I freeze.

Nothing has changed.

No matter how much I regret it now, or how much I hate myself for it, there was a _reason_ I did what I did. And despite the fact that the reason I did what I did has seemed ridiculous to me at various points throughout this hellish fucking day, it's _not_ ridiculous. His kids need him, and he needs them. And if he doesn't go back there now, if he doesn't fix his marriage, he's going to lose them. They're going to grow up without him, he's going to miss _everything_ , and he's going to wish he'd never left.

I did the right thing.

I did the right thing.

Fuck, I _hope_ I did the right thing...

My finger hovers over his name for a few seconds longer before drifting across the screen to the info icon instead. I tap it gently, bringing up a contact page with his phone number and e-mail address on it. An incredibly small but nostalgic smile curls the corner of my mouth as I think back to the night we met, and how I oh-so-innocently handed him my phone and had him put his number in it when all I really needed was his twitter name. But I _wanted_ his number, I wanted to be able to call him. I wanted to know him from the second I saw him.

I never could have imagined what it would lead to...

I press my finger against the small picture that I chose to represent him in my contacts, and a bigger version of it immediately fills the entire screen. It's a picture that Alex took of us a couple of months ago, while the three of us were out having dinner. We're both making stupid faces, probably because we'd both had several drinks by that point in the evening. He looks so relaxed and happy, everything about the picture looks so fucking _right_. Everything _felt_ right in that moment, it was like we didn't care who saw us or what they thought of us, like we had nothing to hide.

Like that was our real life, and nothing else existed.

My phone buzzes in my hand with a text, interrupting the staring match that I was having with the picture. If it was from anyone but Isaac I wouldn't bother reading it, but I figure I owe him more than that. Especially after waking him and Sophie up at the crack of dawn this morning, having a meltdown in his living room before he'd even had a cup of coffee, and then disappearing from his apartment and leaving him to wonder what the hell happened between me and Taylor for the rest of the day.

_Hey, beb. How's it going?_

What do I say to that? Should I lie? What's the point? He's going to find out the truth eventually. But right now the truth is just too exhausting to tell. I don't want to type it out. I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to fucking _think_ about it.

_My bed smells like him._

That pretty much says it all.

I've just turned my face back towards my pillow, and I'm about to inhale another breath of him when Isaac responds.

_My couch doesn't._

I shouldn't even need to think twice about that invitation. The healthy thing to do here is to put my fucking pillow down, get off of this bed, and get my ass over to my best friend's apartment before I drive myself completely crazy. If I stay here alone, I'm going to do something stupid; I know me, I have an unblemished track record of doing stupid shit when I'm upset.

So I summon what little sense I still have, and I force myself to release my grip on my pillow.

I let him go, again.

 


	2. Day 23

_ West Hollywood, California - July 12th, 2011 _

 

I kinda totally hate the whole bar scene.

I was better at it when I was younger. Or maybe I just _thought_ I was. I was a cocky little shit back then, so I probably thought I was way less of a tool than I actually was. Girls never seemed to care how much of a dipshit I was, though. I've had my fair share of casual hookups, I don't know many people who haven't (except Isaac, but he got married when he was like twelve). Sometimes I had to make an effort to get a girl to go home with me, sometimes I barely had to buy her a drink. Sometimes I'd see them again, sometimes I wouldn't...

It never mattered much either way; I was young, nothing mattered much.

I'm not so fucking young anymore, though. I might look it, but I don't _feel_ it. I feel old, and out of place, and so goddamn _pathetic_ sitting here on this bar stool _alone_. I don't go out drinking alone, it's fucking depressing. I stay _in_ and drink alone. But the chances of me finding a guy to fuck in my own apartment are kinda slim-to-none.

Unless you count Mike...

Yeah... no. _Not_ happening.

So I find myself forced to trawl gay bars in West fucking Hollywood like the loser I am. And it's not the first time I've resorted to this tactic, either, which makes it even worse. I mean, I've been to gay bars countless times before. Ten times more often since I met Adam and started hanging out with him and his circle off stage. I'm no stranger to this scene, and I'm no stranger to being eyed up and hit on by gay guys, either. But I rarely ever encourage it beyond a little innocent flirting (if I'm in the mood). I never saw the point in leading them on. I wasn't interested in guys, so it wasn't fair to let them think anything was gonna happen.

But then Taylor fucking Hanson waltzed into my life, and now...

I'm _still_ not interested in guys.

I guess some part of me is open to it or whatever, otherwise I never would've done what I did, and I wouldn't be sitting here as a result. But whatever part of me it was that wanted him wants _nothing_ to do with any other guys. Not really. Not like that, anyway. I can look at a guy and find him attractive, and I have no problem saying as much. But with Taylor... it was different. Whenever a guy would sit down on a bar stool next to me and offer to buy me a drink, or throw some overused line at me, I would politely turn them down. When _Taylor_ offered to buy me a drink, I was ready and willing to let him (if I hadn't just bought my own). I didn't try to deter him, I encouraged him.

He wasn't even coming on to me, not at first, but _fuck_ did I ever want him to be.

With other guys, it's always been the opposite.

When we 'broke up' after I caught him with Zac, I tried to move on and forget him. And I assumed that the easiest way to do that was to get back to business and fuck someone else. So I slept with some girl I met after playing a show with Monte, but even though she was hot as hell... it was only okay. It should have been amazing, and before Taylor it probably would have been. But it was just average. It felt like something wasn't right, something was missing. And after spending way more time mulling it over than was probably good for what little remaining sanity I had, I came to the conclusion that what was "wrong" was the fact that _I_ was the one doing the fucking. I'd never really considered being on the other side of things until I'd been with Taylor, but once I _had_ been on the other side, it changed things for me.

I wanted to _be_ fucked.

I was determined to prove to myself that he wasn't an exception to some unwritten rule of my sexuality, he wasn't anything special, he wasn't the _only_ guy I wanted to be fucked by. So I did exactly what I'm doing right now; I parked my non-existent ass on a stool at a gay bar, and I let myself get hit by the first guy who sat down beside me. I let him buy me several drinks, I let him take me home, I let him fuck me... and it was fine.

Just... fine.

I mean, _technically_ it was (mostly) good sex. If he was being scored by a panel of judges, they probably would've given him an eight. He was only the second guy I'd ever been with, but I had no complaints. Except for the unnecessary ass-slapping.

And, you know... the fact that he wasn't Taylor.

I came away from my first post-Taylor fuck with a girl thinking that I wanted to be fucked by a guy. And I came away from my first post-Taylor fuck with a guy well and truly convinced that getting fucked by just _any_ guy wasn't gonna scratch that itch. Because whoever it was I was being fucked by wasn't _him_. It had to be _him_.

That _jerk_.

You'd think I'd know better by now. You'd think I would've learned from that little experience... experimentation... whatever. Fucking random guys does not make me want Taylor less. It does not make me miss him less. It doesn't satisfy this insane, _relentless_ craving I have, because the craving is for _him_. Honestly, I'd probably be better off at home jacking off to porn. Whatever happens tonight is probably gonna make me feel just as lame and just as lonely.

There's no probably about it, actually, it just _is_.

I mean, it's how I felt the other two times I did it this past week.

The first bar I went to was one of the nicer ones in this part of town. Not too dark, not too loud, not too crowded. I was a man on a mission that night; I wasn't looking to get laid by just _anyone_ , oh no, I had fucking standards. Hell, I had criteria! They had to be taller than me, they had to be blonde, they had to have blue eyes, I had to be able to make them blush within the first five minutes of them trying to talk to me... basically, they had to remind me enough of Taylor that, by the time I was done drinking and ready to leave with them, I would barely be able to tell the difference.

Yeah, I know, I'm a fucking idiot.

And I felt like a total ass, because the guy I ended up going home with was a genuinely nice guy. He was sweet, and kinda shy. Like, I noticed him watching me a good _hour_ before he worked up the nerve to come over and introduce himself. He didn't use any corny lines, he tried to have an actual conversation with me. I practically had to invite myself back to his place, because every fucking time he came close to suggesting it, he chickened out. Then, when we finally did wind up at his apartment, he seemed to be under the impression that I was there to have tea and cookies or some shit. It took me shamelessly throwing myself at him to get him to shut him up and start taking my damn clothes off the way most guys probably would've done before they'd even finished unlocking the front door!

I should've known by then that I wasn't gonna get what I wanted from him. I'd picked the wrong guy. I'd picked a guy who reminded me _so_ much of Taylor that he wasn't capable of a quick, emotionless fuck with some stranger he'd picked up in a bar. He wanted to kiss me. _A lot_. He wanted it to mean something, I could _see_ it in his eyes. Just like I could see that he _wasn't_ Taylor. He had beautiful blue eyes, but they weren't the _right_ kind of blue. They weren't Taylor blue. I was totally trashed, but I could still fucking see it. I tried not to look at him, but every time he kissed me I could _feel_ it. So I tried not to kiss him... but then it was just _everything_. Every-damn-thing he did made it more and more obvious that he _wasn't_ Taylor.

I think that realization hit hardest when he reached into his nightstand for a condom. Don't get me wrong, if he'd wanted to fuck without one I wouldn't have gone through with it. I don't go around screwing guys (or girls) I just met in a bar without using protection; I'm not an idiot.

Taylor was the exception to that rule. To _every_ fucking rule I ever had, as it turns out.

I trusted him _completely_. I barely knew him, but he told me we were safe, and I believed him. I know that makes me a total fucking moron, even if we _were_ totally safe. But honestly, if I could go back to that moment and do it differently... I wouldn't. I wouldn't change a damn second. I wouldn't give up being that close to him for _any_ -fucking-thing.

Even if this is where it got me.

Anyway, Imitation Taylor fell asleep beside me with his arm draped over me, like we fell asleep together that way every night. And once I was sure he wasn't gonna wake up, I slipped out from under him, collected my clothes off of the floor, and got dressed on my way out. I know that makes me a selfish jerk, but I had absolutely _zero_ fucking interest in spending the night in his bed, and waking up to him staring at me with those big, hopeful blue eyes over a cup of coffee that he got up early to make just for me. I didn't wanna go through all that "we should do this again" bullshit, or give him my number, or kiss him goodbye.

I didn't want to see him again, because I knew that every time I looked at him I was just gonna see a guy who vaguely resembled the guy I _actually_ wanted to be with. It'd drive me totally fucking crazy, and I'd either end up on a psych ward or shooting myself in the head!

But you live and learn, right?

 _Wrong_.

A few nights later I went to another bar in WeHo. It was dark, loud, and over-crowded. I wasn't looking for a Taylor double anymore, I was just looking for someone I found reasonably attractive. I didn't want sweet and coy, I wanted bold and assertive. Someone who saw me, wanted me, and came right on over to get me. Who would all but fucking _tell_ me I was going home with him, bend me over the first piece of furniture we bumped into after the front door closed behind us, and then expect me to pull my pants up and leave when it was over.

And that was pretty much exactly what I got.

Guy number two was nothing like Taylor. He was tall, but the similarities ended there. He had black hair (though I'm pretty sure it wasn't his natural color), and brown eyes. He was in _really_ good shape, I mean I could see his fucking abs through his too-tight t-shirt. Usually that's _totally_ not the type of guy I'd find attractive. But I'd had a few drinks before he found his way over to me, and by that point I just didn't care. He was charming in a self-assured but not-too-smug kind of way, and he made it clear from the first second that he wanted me.

He was even _less_ subtle than his skin tight clothes.

Being with him was definitely different from any of my previous encounters with guys. He was way rougher, which was fine by me. I didn't have to convince him that it was okay to fuck me within a few hours of meeting me, because that was exactly what he'd been out looking for. He didn't care who I was, he didn't want to waste time getting to know me, I'm not even really sure whether he asked me my name. If he told me his, I don't remember it at all. He bought me a drink without asking if I wanted one (but I did, so whatever), we made half-hearted small talk about the bar we were in, and the music that was playing, and a bunch of meaningless bullshit I didn't care enough to commit to memory. He made some comment about it being loud, which I knew was a lead in to suggesting we leave, and I played along. As soon as he asked if I wanted to get out of there, and I agreed, it was a done deal. We _were_ going back to his place.

We had to take a cab to get there, and he'd barely finished giving the driver his address before his hand was on my thigh and his tongue was in my mouth. It was only a five minute drive, but before we even got there my fly was unzipped and I was half expecting him to pull my dick out and go down on me right then and there! He didn't, which was probably for the best (I'm sure the driver would agree). But the second we actually set foot inside his apartment he stopped kissing me and practically forced me down to my knees.

Apparently I was expected to give rather than receive.

Before I even started, I wanted to stop. It's not like I hate giving head or anything, but it's not something I'm particularly turned on by. Unless I'm with Taylor. I swear, I could suck him off until my mouth goes fucking numb. I never got tired of doing it, I was never _against_ doing it. I honestly never thought it'd be something I'd get off on doing. Before I met him, I always figured that _if_ I ever ended up doing more than just kissing a guy, giving head would be one of those things I'd do because I felt like I should, but it'd be for the other guy's enjoyment and not my own.

I didn't want to think about Taylor while I was doing it. I wanted to _forget_ him, that was the whole damn point! But I couldn't get him out of my mind. I couldn't stop comparing what was happening in that moment to how being with him felt. I couldn't stop wishing that it was him standing in front of me instead, wishing this guy grabbed my hair the way Taylor did, or moaned the way Taylor did, or tasted the way Taylor did. That feeling of longing I had been trying to shake by having sex with some nameless guy from a gay bar only intensified as the minutes ticked by. It was just like it had been with the other guy, even though the way he treated me was entirely different. It didn't matter if he was rougher with me, if he had no interest in looking at me while he fucked me, if he barely even tried to kiss me.

It didn't make me forget Taylor, it just made me want him _more_.

So why the fuck am I sitting here? Why am I all set to do this _again_? I know it's not gonna help, if anything it's gonna make it worse. I don't even _want_ to get laid, I had to _make_ myself come here tonight, I had to talk myself into it. And I'm talking myself into staying. Every second since I got here, I've thought about leaving, but I won't _let_ myself. 'Cause god forbid I do something that _doesn't_ leave me feeling like dog shit.

My phone starts vibrating in my pocket, and when I finally manage to pry it out and check who's calling, I see Isaac's face on the screen. I set it down on the bar in front of me, staring at it and telling myself that the only reason I'm not answering it is because I wouldn't be able to hear him over the music and chatter around me. I know better, though. And I'm sure Isaac does, too.

I haven't seen him in over a week, not since the Fourth of July party he and Sophie threw. I didn't want to go, but he said it wasn't good for me to spend all my time alone in my apartment. I figured he was probably right, and even if he wasn't, at least there would be a ton of free alcohol to keep me company.  It turned out alcohol was pretty much the only thing (animal, mineral, or vegetable) there to keep me company. Not that Isaac and Sophie didn't make an effort to get me to socialize, but I was making an equal effort to be an uncooperative asshole. And it seemed as though everyone else at the party was already in a relationship anyway. I swear people were sucking face in all directions! I just wanted to _leave_. But I got so drunk that I couldn't even walk, so I ended up crashing on their couch. I felt like such a loser when I woke up at the ass crack of dawn the next day with one of the worst hangovers I've ever had. I couldn't remember doing anything too humiliating or offensive, but I distinctly remembered being an anti-social jerk. So I did what I do best.

I ran away.

"Ex?" Asks a voice beside me, startling me out of my staring match with phone-screen-Isaac.

"Huh?"

"Avoiding your ex?"  The guy who just sat down beside me elaborates with a nod to my phone, just as it stops ringing and Isaac's picture disappears.

"No." I mumble, already regretting not answering the call. But I know that if he calls again, I'll ignore that one, too. I can't seem to help myself. "Just a friend."

"Good." Don't roll your eyes, Tommy. This is what you came here for. "Can I buy you a drink?"

No. Fuck off. "Go for it."

He smiles as he turns away from me and works on getting the attention of one of the bartenders, and I disinterestedly go back to gazing at my phone. But I'm not seeing my phone, or anything else in front of me. All I can see is Taylor sitting beside me in that New York bar the night we met, it's like a fucking movie playing in my head. I can't make it stop. I guess that's fitting; I could never make anything stop when it came to him. I never _wanted_ to.

He said "hi", I looked up and saw his face... and I couldn't make myself look away again for more than a second.

I was totally fucking gone.

"So, this is gonna sound incredibly cliché," Then do us both a favor and don't fucking say it, dude. "But what's a good looking guy like you doing sitting all alone in a bar?"

I shrug disinterestedly, turning my attention from my phone to the new bottle of beer that was just placed beside it. "Guess I must not be all that good looking."

"You're not one of _those_ , are you?" He asks teasingly.

"One of whats?"

"One of those guys with shitty self-esteem who has _no_ idea how gorgeous he is."

Jeez. If this is as good as his come ons get, I'm gonna need something a lot stronger than a beer. "Does it matter?"

"Not really. Guys like that just tend to take a little more work, that's all."

"Sounds about right." I snort softly, raising the beer to my lips and taking a _very_ long drink.                         

"It's usually worth it, though." He continues in an irritatingly flirtatious tone.

"I doubt my ex would agree with you there."

Damnit, Tommy, could you _not_ bring him into this? This and every other fucking thing! _Fuck_.

"Then it's a good thing he's your ex."

"Yeah, it's fucking awesome." I reply, sounding way more contemptuous than I meant to.

"Oh..." He sighs knowingly. "So _that's_ what a good looking guy like you is doing sitting alone at a bar."

"Meaning?"

"You're recently single and rebounding like your life depends on it."

"I'm _not_ rebounding." I lie defensively. "Maybe I just like alcohol."

"Maybe."

"And maybe sitting at bars alone means guys like you are more likely to buy me drinks, so I never have to spend a fucking cent on over-priced beer."

He laughs softly, nodding in approval. "Sounds like a great plan."

"Thanks." It _is_ a great plan. It's just not the one I came in here with.

"You're not gonna make this easy for me, huh?"

"Make what easy?" I ask dumbly, like I'm not well aware of the fact that he's hoping to charm his way into my pants within the next couple of hours.

I'm actually kinda curious to see if he can come up with some smooth line to answer my question, but before he has the chance to try, my phone starts ringing again. And it's Isaac again.

"You sure this guy's not your ex?"

"Well, I do fuck a lot of guys. It gets kinda hard to keep track."

"Right?" He agrees good-naturedly. "After a while they all start to look alike. I've taken to calling them all 'babe' to avoid getting their names wrong."

"Smart."

This time after Isaac gives up on me answering my phone, he leaves a voicemail. And even though I know that whatever he has to say is only gonna make me feel like the asshole I am, I hit play and put the phone to my ear anyway.

"Hey, it's me. Again. Look... did I do something to piss you off? 'Cause I've been trying to figure out why the hell you won't talk to me, and I'm coming up empty. So can you _at least_ call me back and tell me why I'm in the dog house? Hell, you can even text me if you _really_ don't wanna talk to me. Or I don't know, I guess maybe I'll see you in a few day at rehearsals for the Ravi show? I mean, I'm assuming you're still in, but how the hell am I supposed to know? I don't know what the fuck is going on with you, man. Where _are_ you?"

Yup.

I'm an asshole.

"Something wrong?"

Me.

I am _so_ wrong.

Why am I here? Why am I ignoring my best friend? Because I can't stand to be around him? Because he's happy, and in love, and I can't fucking handle seeing shit like that right now? So... what? I'm just gonna avoid him until he gives up on me? And instead of hanging out with him, or anyone I actually care about, I'll just keep coming to bars in West Hollywood and sleeping with guys whose names I either can't remember or never bothered to ask for, even if I don't fucking _want_ to.

Am I that intent on fucking everything up?

Fuck, I didn't even _remember_ we had a show with Ravi coming up until Isaac just mentioned it!

What the fuck am I doing?

"I gotta go."

"But-"

"Thanks for the drink." I tell the poor schmuck who was unlucky enough to take a seat beside me. "Sorry I was a dick or whatever."

Rather than calling Isaac back as soon as I'm out of the bar and can hear myself think, I wander up and down Sunset for a while like a total fucking loser. I may have come to my senses enough to get the hell out of that bar before I ended up having another soul-sucking one-night-stand, but that doesn't mean I know how the fuck I'm supposed to apologize to my friend. Besides, I need time to sober up before I get behind the wheel of a car. I'm not exactly loving life right now, but I don't have a death wish.

After walking in a big-ass circle for an hour or so, I still have no idea what to say to Isaac. At least I remembered where I parked my car, though, so that's something. I have every intention of calling him back as soon as I've settled myself in the driver's seat, but when I go to select him from my contacts I can't do it. It doesn't feel right. I'm not pussing out, I swear. It's just that I've been doing my best to make everything more difficult than it already is, and I'm not about to take the easy way out with him.

It takes me less than twenty minutes to drive over to Silver Lake, and then another thirty minutes to grow half a spine and get out of my damn car once I'm there. I wanted to hide for a little longer, but it's already midnight. I've done enough douchebaggy shit lately without waking Isaac and Sophie up at one o'clock on a Wednesday morning.

It's time to get over myself and at least attempt to be a mature adult.

When Sophie opens the door, she gives me a look that practically fucking _screams_ , "look what the cat dragged in." Only not in the cruel way it should, the way I deserve. It's like she's not at all surprised to see me standing here, like she knew I'd come crawling back sooner rather than later.

"I _knew_ it was you." She smirks. "You're the only person who comes knocking on our door at totally inappropriate times."

"Sorry."

With an unconcerned shrug, she opens the door a little further and steps aside to let me in. "Who needs sleep, right?"

I do.                                                                                 

I feel like I could sleep for a whole fucking _year._ I don't remember the last time I got more than a few hours of sleep without drinking myself unconscious first.

Actually, that's a total lie. I _do_ remember. It was three weeks ago.

The last time I shared a bed with Taylor.

Isaac turns the TV off and stands up from the couch as soon as I set foot inside the apartment. I can't tell from the stoic look on his face if he's happy to see me or not. Maybe _he's_ not even sure. Can't say I blame him.

"Okay, boys, I'm headin' to bed." Announces Sophie with a weary sigh. "Try to stay out of trouble."

"I'll be in soon." Isaac tells her quietly, accepting a passing peck on the lips before she disappears down the hall.

I wish seeing them kiss, even for just a second, didn't make me feel so damn bitter. It never used to. I love them both, and they're amazing together. I don't wish they were miserable like I am, but I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't even slightly resentful. How fucked up is that? I _resent_ the fact that they're happy and I'm not, that they get to be with the person they love and I don't, that it's so fucking _simple_ for them and impossible for me.

I don't want to feel this way anymore, it's _exhausting_.

Once we're alone, there's nothing but awkward silence. I'm not sure there has _ever_ been awkward silence between us before, we hit it off the moment we met. Even if we have nothing to talk about, we can still sit around and say absolutely fuck all without it feeling this weird. I know I've screwed up a hell of a lot of shit lately, but I _can't_ let this friendship be one of them.

"Hey..." I begin uncertainly, struggling to think of something else to say to break the painfully long silence.

"Hey." He replies coolly. "I called you. _A lot_."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You're a _jackass_ is what you are."

"Yeah." That's an understatement. "Told you."

Even though I can clearly see him trying not to smile, he can't help himself. The sense of relief I feel as I watch that trademark grin of his spread across his face is unquestionably the best thing I've felt all month.

"True." He concedes, the tension between us evaporating almost instantly. "So, jackass... what the hell have you been doing with yourself?"

"You don't wanna know."

His smile quickly fades when he realizes that I'm not joking in the slightest, and he frowns in concern as his eyes study my face intently. "You okay?"

I start to nod out of habit. Someone asks if I'm okay, I tell them yes. Someone asks how I am, I tell them I'm fine. But this someone is my best friend. You're not supposed to lie to your best friend, they're supposed to be the _one_ person who genuinely wants to know how you're feeling when they ask you. They're supposed to be the one person you can be brutally honest with.

And honestly? I'm _not_ okay.

I'm nowhere close.

As soon as I shake my head, he starts walking across the room towards me. It's like he knows I'm about to break, and he has me wrapped in a tight hug only a second before it happens. He's literally trying to hold me together, but I'm not sure it's enough.

"I _hate_ this."

"I know."

"I miss him _so_ fucking much, Isaac." I manage to choke out against his shoulder, my fingers practically clawing at the back of his t-shirt in an attempt to brace myself against the pain that apparently comes with saying those words out loud for the first time. "It won't stop... how the fuck do I make it _stop_?"

He doesn't know. He's as clueless as I am. And it's not like I expected him to have all the answers, but the fact that he doesn't have _any_ , that there isn't _any_ trick to making this feeling go away, is like an emotional kick in the chest.

It hurts.

I'm _so_ damn tired and _everything_ fucking _hurts_ so much that I can barely _breathe_.

But somehow... I know this is better. It doesn't feel any better, but letting it in, letting myself _be_ in pain instead of trying to outrun it and doing everything I can think of to avoid it... it's better.

Maybe this is it. Maybe this is what I have to do to let him go and move on.

I _need_ to let him go and move on.

                                                                        


	3. Day 70 - Part 1

_ Los Angeles, California - August 28th, 2011 _

 

Do you ever tell yourself that you're _not_ gonna do something, but deep down you know you're a fucking liar? And you put all this time and energy into not doing this thing you know you're probably gonna end up doing anyway, because at least then you can tell yourself that you tried. But deep down you know you're lying about that, too.

Let's look at my relationship with Taylor, for example (which, by the way, makes me a total fucking liar for telling myself that I _wouldn't_ think about him anymore).

I told myself I wasn't gonna kiss him that first night at the bar. But I did.

I told myself that I wasn't gonna contact him again, that I was gonna delete his number from my phone so that I wouldn't be able to call or text him no matter how tempted I became. But I "forgot" to do it.

I told myself I wasn't going to let anything happen between us when he came to Adam's show in Thackerville, that it was just going to be two acquaintances having a few beers. But I wanted it to be more than that from the second I saw him.

I told myself that I wouldn't let it go any further when I paid him that surprise visit in Portland, I _definitely_ wasn't gonna fuck him. But I was on him as soon as the hotel room door closed.

I told myself I would _never_ be stupid enough to fall in love with him...

Turns out, when it comes to Taylor Hanson, I tell myself _a lot_ of lies.

But he's not the only thing I lie to myself about, and  the lying hasn't stopped just because he's no longer in my life.

I told myself I wasn't gonna date anyone else until I was _completely_ over him, but I somehow ended up dating Liz. Which is another thing I told myself I'd never do. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's beautiful, and we have a good time together and everything, but she's _so_ fucking Christian. And even if that wasn't a total turn off, she's _a lot_ younger than me. Although, according to Sophie, our maturity levels are pretty equal. I knew Liz liked me when we were on tour together last year, but once the tour ended we barely saw each other anymore. I figured it was just one of those friendships that faded away due to lack of proximity (and lack of interest, at least on my part).

But then she showed up at Ravi's show last month (which Sophie still swears she had nothing to do with). We hung out for a little while afterwards, and we ended up making plans to have dinner the next week so that we could catch up properly. And then we made plans for the week after that. And the next thing I knew we were hanging out _all_ the time. The final nail in the coffin was when I asked her if she wanted to go to a wedding with me. Apparently inviting someone to a wedding means you're as good as married yourself.

So here I am, at a fucking Street Fair with my _girlfriend_. I told myself I wasn't gonna come to this thing, it's totally not my idea of a good time. I hate fair rides, and fair food, and crowds so dense you can hardly fucking breathe, let alone move. But she wanted to go, and she batted her eyelashes at me...

When did I become such a damn push-over?

I've never been this guy before, this obedient fucking puppy dog. I wanna tell her I'm going home, but every time I open my mouth to say it... I just don't. Because what's the point? What am I gonna do? Sit on my couch all fucking afternoon by myself? Piss off a perfectly nice girl who I actually have a shot at starting a _real_ relationship with? That's the kind of shit I would've pulled in the past, and look where that's gotten me.

It's time to grow up and put some effort into something that _isn't_ entirely self-destructive for once.

"Okay, first things first," Liz declares gleefully, her big blue eyes shining with excitement as she takes me by the hand. "I want some funnel cake."

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"That shit's nasty. Not to mention totally overpriced. I mean, it's deep fried dough for eight bucks a plate!"

"No one said _you_ have to pay for it _or_ eat it." She taunts, rolling her eyes at me and continuing on completely unaffected by my crumby attitude. "I want a corndog, too. And some cotton candy. Ooh, and we _have_ to go on the ferris wheel!"

"Fuck that." I protest, trying (but failing) to tug my hand out of her grasp. "No fucking way am I going on a fucking ferris wheel."

"But we _have_ to!" She whines, pouting her glossy lips and flashing me those big, baby blues (but they're not Taylor blue, so it doesn't work). " _Please_?"

" _Not_ happening."

"But-"

"I don't do ferris wheels, okay? Or tilt-a-whirls, or fun houses, or pirate ships, or roller coasters-"

"There _is_ no roller coaster."

"I know, I'm just saying." I shrug, heaving a deep sigh as I look around me at the hell I've willingly walked into.

"How about the carousel?" She suggests in an intentionally condescending tone. "Or that cute little teacup ride, maybe?"

"I'm not fucking _five_." I snap, scowling at how amusing she seems to find my petulance. "I _told_ you this was a bad idea. You would've had more fun if you just come to this thing with your friends."

Her broad smile fades into another pitiful pout as she gives my hand a gentle squeeze and leans in to peck me on the cheek. " _Not_ true. We'll still have fun even if we don't go on any rides."

"Right."

"But I have a funny feeling you're gonna change your mind about the ferris wheel."

I snort indignantly, because I don't care how funny her feeling is, it's dead fucking _wrong._ "Don't get your hopes up."

"What if I promise to make out with you the _entire_ time?" She proposes sweetly, biting her lip for good measure.

"No offense, but it's gonna take a hell of a lot more than the promise of having your tongue in my mouth to convince me to go on _any_ of these lawsuits waiting to happen."

"Well, my tongue isn't going anywhere else on your body, so-"

"That's not what I meant!"

"Uh-huh, sure." She smirks, tugging on my hand again and leading me deeper into the throngs of festival goers. "Follow me, Grandpa. Ten bucks says we can find some fair food that even _you_ approve of."

For the next hour or so, I dutifully let Liz lead me around the street fair in whichever directions she chooses without a word of protest. I don't wanna ruin her day, even if I do think she's a damn fool for wanting to spend it with me, of all people. Where the hell she got the impression that I would make today more fun for her, I have _no_ fucking clue. It's not like I'm intentionally being a downer or anything, I just totally hate this shit. But I'm at least _trying_ not to let it show. A fake smile and willingness to do whatever she wants (with the exception of setting foot on _any_ rides) seems to be enough to convince her that I'm having a semi-decent time, which means she gets to have a good time, too. She has her funnel cake, and her cotton candy, and I hold her purse while she goes on a couple of rusty old rides that I swear are gonna fall the fuck to pieces at any second.

She's happy, and that's the whole point, right?

"Are you having a totally terrible time?" She asks as we stroll aimlessly along Sunset Boulevard in search of yet more junk food.

"No."

"Liar."

So much for all the effort I put into pretending that this thing isn't my idea of hell. "It's fine. Whatever. I don't mind."

"Well, _I_ know something that will cheer you up." Please let there be a beer garden. _Please_ let there be a beer garden! "Some friends of yours are in one of the bands that are performing later today."

"That's news to me." I frown, though honestly I hadn't paid enough attention to which bands were playing at this thing to really know. I just figured that if it was anyone I cared about, I'd have heard something by now. "Who is it?"

"I'll give you a hint." She grins mischievously. "We wrote a song with one of them."

"We did?" I ask in confusion, trying to remember when the hell Liz and I _ever_ wrote a song togeth...

Oh fuck, no...

 _No_.

"Hanson are playing at this thing?" I ask, unaware that I've come to a dead stop in the middle of the damn fair until people start bumping into me on purpose just to make a point of their annoyance. "T-Today?"

"Yeah." Shit, shit, _shit_! "I thought you'd be happy about it."

"Why?"

She shrugs helplessly, clearly becoming more and more concerned by my unenthusiastic response to this piece of 'good news' she's presented me with. "I just thought you'd want to see them. Or Taylor, at least. You guys seemed like you were pretty good friends-"

"We weren't."

"O-kay..."

"I mean... we _were_ , kind of, for like a minute. But we're not anymore."

"How come?" She questions curiously as I do my best to avoid her eyes and appear _way_ more nonchalant than I feel.

"We're just not. And even if we were, it's not like I was ever a fan of their music or whatever. It's totally _not_ my thing."

"Oh. Well... I guess we don't _have_ to watch their show if you really don't want to."

Thank _fuck_. "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"It's no biggie." I mumble, taking a deep breath and attempting to force a small smile.

But all I really wanna do right now is throw up. I feel like someone just reached down my throat and into my chest, grabbed my heart and squeezed it until it fucking _burst_. I can't let _her_ in on that fact, though. As far as she knows, I have no reason for being on the verge of a panic attack.

And it's gonna stay that way.

"Come on." This time, I'm the one tugging on her hand and dragging her off through the fair crowds. "Let's get you those curly fries."

The next time Liz hops on a death trap disguised as fun for the whole family, I take my phone out of my pocket and quickly scour google for any scrap of information I can find on when and where Hanson are performing today. My plan is to get the fuck out of here _hours_ before they're due to show up.

I can't see him. I seriously _cannot_.

I'm like an addict that just got out of rehab or something. I detoxed, I dealt with the pain, I talked it out (to a certain extent), I got clean, and I'm trying to move on with my life. But I'm not strong enough to handle being around the thing I was addicted to, not yet. I'm not even close.

It took me weeks, _months_ , to claw my way out of the Taylor-shaped grave I'd dug for myself. In fact, I'm _still_ not even completely out of it. I'm dangling from the edge, hopelessly trying to drag my ass the rest of the way out before I slip and fall back in.

If I see him, even just the back of his fucking _head_ , I'll slip.

I'll fall.

I _can't_ go through this all over again.

"Whatcha looking at?" Asks Liz, surprising me so much that I almost throw my phone in the air and scream like a fucking ten-year-old girl!

"Nothing." I lie with a half-hearted shrug, stuffing my phone into my pocket. "How was the ride?"

"Fun!" She grins, linking her arm with mine as I hand her purse back to her. "And look, I'm still alive!"

"For now."

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, the odds of you leaving this place in an ambulance are increasing with every ride you go on."

"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine!"

"Aww, you _finally_ noticed!" I coo at her, placing a hand over my heart in exaggerated gratitude, and she shakes her head at me in defeat as she fights to keep a smile off of her face. "So, what's next? The Tilt-a-Where's-My-Head?"

"Oh, jeez."

"Or maybe the Pirate Ship of Projectile Vom-"

"Tommy!"

At the sound of someone calling out my name, I instinctively begin searching the crowds around us for a familiar face. And by the sound of it, that face belongs to someone pretty young. I think some part of me knew it was River before I even laid eyes on him, but I was so desperate for it _not_ to be him that I kept telling myself it _couldn't_ be. The universe fucking hates me, though, so _of course_ it's him.

And obviously he's not here alone.

My gut reaction the second I see Taylor is it to turn and run in the opposite direction as fast as I can. Actually, that's a total lie. The very first coherent thought that pops into my head is, " _damn, he looks amazing_ ", followed very quickly by, " _fuck, I wish I could kiss him_ ". And then finally, after a sudden and unstoppable tsunami of memories has washed over me and left me breathless, _that's_ when I contemplate fleeing the fair entirely.

 But it's too late for that; Liz is already dragging me over there, insisting that it would be rude not to say hello.

So fucking what?!

I don't _care_ if it's rude! I _can't_ do this! I can't, I can't, I can't, I-

"Taylor, hey!" Liz greets him excitedly, pulling more and more determinedly on my hand the more I try to hold back. "I thought I heard that you guys were playing here this weekend! How are you?"

The second she releases her grip on my hand in order to hug him, I seriously consider getting the fuck out of here. But then I look down and see River grinning up at me, waving at me excitedly, and I know there's no way I can just up and leave now.

 _Fuck_.

I'm vaguely aware that Taylor and Liz are chatting about... something. I don't know what, though, it's like I don't understand words anymore, it's all just sounds. _All_ of my brain function is being channeled into staring at his face. His fucking _perfect_ face, and his perfect lips, and his perfect hair (which is a little longer than it was the last time I saw him). God, I _miss_ him. I miss the way his hair feels between my fingers, I miss the way his nose grazes the tip of mine right before he kisses me, I miss his eyes...

Right on cue, he looks at me. His eyes meet mine, and _everything_ stops.

Except my heart. My heart is pounding so damn fast that I swear I'm gonna pass out or puke. Or possibly pass out in a pool of my own puke. That would totally be in keeping with the rest of this shit-tacular day.

Fuck, Tommy, snap out of it! You can't just stand here staring at him like this, it's ridiculous!

But I can't _stop_!

Not until he finally turns away from me again. The sudden loss of eye contact leaves me feeling dizzy, like I was just spinning around at warp speed on one of these stupid fair rides and now I can barely stay on my fucking feet!

"Daddy, can Tommy come on the ferris wheel with us?" River begs, grabbing onto his dad's hand and clutching it desperately. " _Please_?"

 _No_.

Even if I didn't _hate_ ferris wheels, there's no fucking way I'm gonna spend a fun filled day at the fair with Taylor and his kids! How can I?! I dumped him; he hates me. And I'm here with someone else, so now he probably hates me even more! And even if he doesn't, even if he's somehow fine with all of this, _I'm_ not.

I'm not even _slightly_ ok with this.

"Sorry, dude, I can't." I tell River apologetically. "I hate ferris wheels."

Penny laughs quietly, giving me a sassy little "nuh-uh" look. "No one hates ferris wheels!"

"I do! They go _way_ too high!"

I feel Liz link her arm with mine again and give it a comforting squeeze, and it makes me feel like shit because she has _no_ fucking clue what's really going on here. "You wouldn't think he was such a delicate flower just by looking at him, would you?"

"Nope." Taylor smiles at her, but it's totally insincere. She might not be able to see it, but I know him well enough to know the difference between his real smiles and his fake ones. His real smiles make his eyes shine, it totally takes your breath away. But there isn't even the tiniest glimmer of light in his eyes right now. "He's definitely full of surprises."

Yup. He hates me.

Whatever, that's fine. It's _good_ , even. He should hate me, that was the whole fucking point of me breaking his heart! I wanted him to give up on me and go back to his wife. I wanted him to move on and put what we had behind him. And that's exactly what he did! I'm a genius, my plan worked flawlessly.

Woo-fucking-hoo!

Just when it seems like Taylor and Liz are wrapping up this nightmare come to life, his fucking _wife_ shows up. And now we've gone right from "bad dream" to "absolute torture" territory!

 _Seriously_?

Is this the kind of shit I get for thinking that this moment couldn't possibly get _any_ worse?!

And damn it, she's pretty.

I mean, it's not like I didn't already know that; I'm a masochistic asshole, so of course I've googled her. But she's one of those people who looks good in pictures and better in person. Like being married to him and having his children wasn't enough for her, she had to go and be beautiful as well?

That greedy _bitch_.

Fuck her.

And fuck him.

Fuck _every_ -fucking- _thing_!

I'm so busy wishing I could go back to thirty-minutes ago and accompany Liz on one of those dumbass rides so that I could very likely die a gruesome, bloody death, that I don't hear any of the pleasantries being exchanged. I'm probably being totally impolite. For all I know, Natalie has asked me several friendly questions and I've ignored every last one of them.

Oh well.

She can't have _everything_ her way!

What snaps me out of my hatred infused stupor is one tiny movement. The second Natalie places a hand over her belly it's like I can't _not_ look at it, and suddenly it looks bigger than it actually is. I hear Liz gasp softly beside me, and it causes the ball of barbed-wire-wrapped dread in the pit of my stomach to expand to ten times the size it already was.

"This might be a totally rude question," Liz begins tentatively. "But... are you pregnant?"

Natalie nods immediately, her already sickeningly wide smile somehow spreading even further. "Due in January."

What the _fuck_?

"Congratulations!"

"Yeah... congrats." I mutter, trying to offer her at least the briefest hint of a smile. But how the hell am I supposed to do that? What have I got to smile about right now? Not that there was _any_ hope of Taylor and I ever getting back together, but Natalie being knocked up _again_ makes it inescapably, irreversibly _official_. It's one hundred percent hopeless. It was impossible before, now it's just... I don't know. What comes after impossible? "Looks like you guys are well on your way to getting your own reality show."

"Oh, no, I don't think so." Natalie giggles, which is apparently the equivalent of nails on chalkboard to me. "I mean, I'm not opposed to having more kids, but I don't want them growing up with cameras following their every move."

"Yeah, 'cause _that_ would be excessive." I hear myself retort bitterly.

I honestly didn't mean to say it out loud; I don't wanna deal with Liz badgering me for an explanation as to why I was being a total dick to Taylor's wife. Thankfully neither she or Natalie seem to pick up on my sour tone or my sarcasm.

But Taylor does.

We say our very civilized goodbyes so that they can get on the ferris wheel and forget I ever existed, and Liz and I wander back off in the direction we came from. I can't help but chance a look over my shoulder, though, because I'm a goddamn _idiot_. And sure enough, I catch him looking right back at me. Granted, I only allow myself to hold his stare for a split second, but a split second is long enough to see that he's pissed at me. I can _feel_ it. At first it hurts, and I'm overwhelmed with regret. But that just pisses _me_ off.

I'm so fucking sick of hurting and having regrets!

I'm done, I _don't_ care.

So what if he thinks I'm being a jerk? Let him. Let him think I'm the worst person on the planet. Then he can go on living his perfect little life, with his pretty wife and adorable kids, and he can thank his lucky stars every damn day that he dodged this bullet.

That he didn't give up everything he had for everything I'm _not_.


	4. Day 70 - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one took way too long. Between holidays and family stuff the last couple of months, I got zero writing done. But even when I DID have time and energy to write, this chapter was hard. Which is crazy, because half of it was already written. But writing it the first time from Taylor's POV was difficult enough. Writing it from Tommy's was quite possibly worse! 
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the delay! Hope it doesn't disappoint.

I can't sleep.

Nothing new there, I guess. But I'm _so_ fucking tired. And it's not even like I'm just lying here thinking in circles; I did that for hours already. It was exhausting, and I was already exhausted.

So _why_ can't I fucking sleep?!

I just want to be unconscious. I want everything to just... go away. I want this day to be over. Not that I expect to feel any better about anything when I wake up tomorrow, but at least it'll be a new day. I will have survived my encounter with Taylor (not to mention his selfishly pretty wife and their irritatingly cute kids) _without_ turning to alcohol to ease the pain. That's right: I haven't had a drink.

 _Yet_.

But seriously, if I don't pass out in the next five fucking minutes, I may have to resort to using hard liquor to escape this endless _nothingness_. There's only so much time a guy can spend staring at the ceiling (or the wall, or the window, or the door) before he loses his fucking mind! I'm quickly reaching my limit. I've tried watching movies, listening to music, even making music, but it all ends with me staring off into space like I've spontaneously gone fucking catatonic or something. I can't focus.

At least, not on anything I _want_ to focus on.

It started right after Liz and I saw Taylor this afternoon. I wandered around the fair in a daze, agreeing to whatever Liz said without having _any_ clue what it was I'd just signed up for. It took her a while, but eventually she figured out that I was totally _not_ there, and she suggested we leave. Hall-fucking-elujah! I thought we'd just come back here, and she'd pick up her car and head home. But instead she wanted to get an early dinner. Like she hadn't just spent half the day eating crappy, fried fair food.

Other than stealing a few of her curly fries earlier in the day, I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. I should have been starving, but I wasn't. If I was, I wasn't aware of it. There was this disconnect between my mind and my body. My stomach may have been totally empty, but my mind had no fucking clue. It was way too preoccupied with picturing Taylor's face, no matter how many times I tried to make it _stop_. He was all I could think about. I may have been sitting across from Liz at a restaurant, but I couldn't see her at all. I couldn't hear a word she said. I just kept playing that torturous ten minutes over and over again in my head. At the time, it felt like it lasted forever. But once it was over, it seemed like it had been nothing at all. Part of me was relieved it had ended so quickly...

But part of me wished it had lasted longer, just so I could have stayed close to him for a few more minutes.

Even if he wanted nothing to do with me.

And who can blame him? Between what I did to him two months ago and the way I behaved today, he has every right to hate me. And I have no right to feel sorry for myself. I did this. I broke his heart _and_ mine. I don't get to feel better about that.

Maybe _that's_ why I can't sleep.

When I first hear a knock at the door, I'm sure I'm imagining things. It's almost midnight, for fucks sake. Who (besides me) goes knocking on people's doors at midnight?! But then I start to wonder if it's Mike and he lost his keys or left them on the coffee table or some shit. Wouldn't be the first time. I _really_ can't be fucking bothered to get off of my bed and see if he actually has locked himself out again, but it's not like I have anything better to do with my time. So, with an extremely tired sigh, I roll off of my mattress and drag myself out of my room and over to the front door.

But it's not Mike standing on the other side of it.

It's Taylor.

 _This_ is why man invented peepholes.

I should _really_ start making use of ours.

 _Fuck_.

I don't want to do this. I don't have the strength to do this. Not now, not tonight. But I'm guessing it wouldn't be appropriate for me to ask him to come back another time, or to just like... shut the door in his face. And I doubt either tactic would get rid of him anyway.

This is happening, _now_ , whether I'm ready or not.

"What're you doing here?" I ask him, instantly feeling a twinge of guilt over how fucking cold I sound.

I honestly wasn't trying to be a little bitch about it, but I guess I just don't have the energy to be anything else right now. I'd better find some energy, though, because judging by the angry spark I just saw blaze in his eyes, he's in the mood for a fight.

"I'm here because I want to know what your problem is."

Here we go...

" _My_ problem?"

"You were a total jerk to Natalie today-"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that I was supposed to be best pals with the wife of the guy I used to fuck."

Shit. That's _so_ not what I meant to say. I mean, it's true. Well, the bit about me and Natalie being friends, anyway. But that last part... I didn't mean that. I didn't mean to hurt him even more than I already have. It was necessary before, in some twisted way. I was being cruel to be kind or whatever.

Now I'm just being cruel.

"You could have been _civil_ at least, you didn't have to treat her like a fucking idiot." He yells at me, clearly becoming more upset at me by the second, which is just what I _don't_ need. "If you wanna treat me like nothing, that's fine, whatever. Even though _I'm_ not the one who ended this. But-"

"What do you want? An apology? Is that why you're here?" I cut him off, all but begging him to just say yes so I can tell him how sorry I am (and I _am_ ). Then maybe he'll just _leave_ and I can go back to staring at my ceiling for the rest of the night.

But again, some part of me wants him to stay. It wants him to stand here and shout at me for hours, make me feel like absolute shit, just so long as he's never more than a foot away from me while he's doing it.

God, I'm fucked up.

"No, I don't want an apology! I want a _reason_! I want to know why you were acting like that, why you were so pissed off when you found out that we're having a baby-"

"I'm _not_ pissed off."

Oh, that's such bullshit, Tommy Joe.

"Bullshit!"

"I'm not!" I snap back at him defensively, desperately trying to sound even slightly convincing. He knows me too well, and it makes me feel unsafe. I used to love it, now I can't stand it. There's nowhere to hide. "I think it's fucking ridiculous, and I think the world is already overpopulated enough without you two procreating like the future of the human race depends on it-"

"You're doing it again!" He argues insistently. "I _know_ that's not why you're upset, so just tell me what the hell you're so angry about!"

"I'm _not_ angry, Taylor!" I'm honestly not. I'm hurt, but I'm not angry. He can't know that, though; in his mind, I have no reason to be jealous. "I don't give a shit what you do, I've moved on."

 _Shit_. I didn't mean to say that, either. Can't I just _not_ be a dick?!

"Yeah, I noticed. I guess you must have realized that you _did_ want to be with Liz right around the same time you realized you didn't want to be with me, huh? So much for all that 'she's not my type' crap."

Would it be wrong if I called a time-out or something?  I just need a minute. I need to remember how to breathe and figure out how to escape from this corner I've been backed into. Maybe then I'll stop lashing out and making everything even worse.

"We're just... hanging out."

"Right." He rolls his eyes like he doesn't believe a word of it. Probably because it's total crap.

But you know what? It's _my_ crap! And I don't need him showing up on my doorstep in the middle of the night rolling his eyes at it!

"Why do you fucking care?!" I snap. "You're back playing happy families with Natalie anyway!"

"What the hell did you expect me to do, Tommy?! You _dumped_ me out of _nowhere_! I would have stayed if you'd wanted me to, but you didn't!"

Now which one of us is spouting total and utter crap?

"No, you would have left me, and we both fucking _know_ it! I did the math, Taylor, she was already pregnant when you came here. And the second she called and told you that you were gonna be a dad again, you would've hightailed it back to Tulsa!"

"That's not true." He tells me, but he sounds so unsure of his own words that it's totally impossible for me to believe him.

And it's not just his weak words that make me doubt him, it's the actions he's already taken.

"It's what you _did_! Look me in the eyes and tell me it's not!"

I wait for him to convince me that I'm wrong, even though I know I'm right. But I still want him to _try_. I mean, would it kill him to at least make a half-assed effort when he lies right to my face?!

"We were already over!" He shouts back at me after struggling (and failing) to think of any other way to defend himself. "I had no reason not to go back! And what the hell does it matter to you what I do anyway? _Why_ are you so fucking upset that I went back to her after _you_ broke up with me?!"

"I'm not upset!" Yeah, right. I've never in my life sounded more like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum because he didn't get what he wanted. Not since I was one, anyway. "I'm not even fucking surprised; it was only a matter of time before you went crawling back. I was never gonna be enough."

"Enough for what? I don't even know what you're talking about-"

"Enough for _you_!"

Ah, shit.

As he stares back at me in complete confusion, I grip the door a little tighter and fight to resist the urge I have to bang my head against it repeatedly. I'm such a fucking idiot!

 _Why_ can't I just _not_ say stupid shit?

"You _were_ enough for me. You were _more_ than enough. I don't..." He trails off, lost in his own uncertainty. " _I_ was the one who wasn't enough, remember? You wanted something different, you wanted to be happy, and _I_ wasn't enough. That's what _you_ said, Tommy."

 _Fuck_.

"I _know_ what I said." I reply tersely, retreating into my apartment as though I can somehow escape from him and his searching eyes. But, of course, he's right behind me.

I should've shut the goddamn door.

Hell, I never should've fucking _opened_ the goddamn door!

"You were the only thing that had _ever_ been enough to make me walk away from them."

"But it wouldn't have lasted." I argue, refusing to face him even though I can _feel_ him waiting for me to. "Whether you left because of the baby, or because you woke up one day and realized that you'd given up _way_ more than you'd gained-"

"Why are you putting this on _me_?! What happened between us was _never_ about what I wanted or what I might have regretted! It was _your_ decision to end this; _you_ didn't love _me_!"

Just hearing him say it is like having someone punch me square in the chest. My eyes instinctively clamp shut, my whole body braces against it. Against the shame of what I did. And against the desperate desire I have to turn around, look him in the eyes, and take it all back. To tell him the truth.

But apparently that's not necessary; my silence said it all.

"You lied." I hear him utter quietly, after the longest, most loaded pause of my entire life. It's barely more than a whisper, but he may as well have screamed it right in my face. "You... you lied to me?"

I force myself to turn around, but I still can't make myself look him in the eyes. I  know he deserves at least that much from me right now, but I just can't make myself do it. Because he wants answers from me, needs them, and I don't know how to give them. I don't know how to even begin confessing to what I did to him, to us. I don't know what to say...

What the fuck am I supposed to _say_?

"Did... did you love me?" He asks, so timidly that it suddenly makes me feel much bigger than him, despite the obvious differences in our heights and builds.

 I feel like I could crush him if I make one wrong move, say one wrong word. And for the longest time it leaves me paralyzed, too unsure of myself to so much as breathe in case I cause him any more pain. But by standing here, refusing to answer his very valid question, I'm doing exactly that. I'm making this more difficult for him, I'm making him fight for something that I should have given him without hesitation _months_ ago.

We've both waited long enough. It needs to stop.

The moment my eyes meet his, I watch the realization hit him. I know I don't need to say anything anymore, he knows the truth now. But after all this time, I need to say it. This lie has been eating me alive, and I can't live through another fucking second of it.

"Too much."

I'm expecting him to be too shaken to respond, at least for a minute or two. I figure he'll need a moment to let what I've said sink in, and then instead of angry he'll be heartbroken. He'll beg me to explain why I never told him, he'll try to convince me we can make this work. And _somehow_ I'm going to have to find the strength to tell him it's too late.

But to my surprise, he doesn't need a minute to take it all in. He's not begging me for anything, he's _demanding_ it. He's still angry, possibly more so than he was before. And I'm no longer scared of hurting him, I no longer feel like the more powerful presence in this room. I feel small, helplessly pleading my case and trying to make him see my side of it. I need him to understand why I did what I did, because he _clearly_ doesn't. He can't. All he can see is the future he pictured for us going up in flames right in front of him all over again.

The words fly back and forth between us uncontrollably, it's like I'm incapable of keeping my own fucking mouth shut. Every accusation he throws at me, I _have_ to defend myself against. I feel as though I'm standing on the sidelines, watching us fight, screaming my fucking head off at myself to shut the fuck up and just _let_ him have this. I should let him bitch me out and tell me that what I did was wrong, whether I believe it was or not.

Maybe I _handled_ it all wrong, but that doesn't mean that what I believed would happen to us wasn't right.

I did the right fucking thing, damnit!

Even if I did it the wrong way.

"I didn't want to lose you but that's _all_ I could see happening, one way or another! I figured that at least you still had a shot at getting your kids back if I just let you go-"

"You didn't _let_ me go, you _forced_ me to! You didn't ask me what I wanted, you made the decision for me!"

"That's not fucking true! You still had a choice, you didn't have to go back, but clearly that was your first instinct!"

"Because I didn't think I had a good enough reason not to!"

"You didn't; _I_ wasn't a good enough reason, that's the point!"

He shakes his head in exasperation, raking his fingers through his hair as he turns back towards the door. But just when I think he's about to give up on this pointless argument and walk out on me, he's facing me again. He no longer looks frazzled and frustrated, his expression is almost blank now. His eyes are cold, piercing, they're not the gentle blue I'm used to.

They're not Taylor blue anymore.

"You know what the point is, Tommy? I loved you, and I wanted to be with you. We could have had something really fucking _incredible_ , we already did, but you threw it away because you were too damn afraid to even _try_. You never gave us a chance!"

"You think I'm not painfully fucking aware of that?! I've regretted it _every_ fucking day, I can't stop thinking about everything I did and wondering what would have happened if I hadn't done it!"

"I guess neither of us will ever know now, will we?"

Motherfucking _ouch_.

Even if I had anything to say to that, I can't form the words to speak right now. And he's not waiting around to hear it, anyway. I stand, frozen, watching him walk out of the door and out of my life all over again. It's like a fucking nightmare that I can't wake up from no matter what I do. I'm hit by a sickening sense of déjà vu as he disappears from sight...

It doesn't hurt any less the second time around.

I can't go after him, it's like my body won't do what my mind wants it to. But maybe that's for the best. I _shouldn't_ go after him; there's no point. What's left to say now? He knows what really went down, and he has every right to hate my guts for the truth even more than he did for the lie. I could defend myself some more, try to make him understand why I did what I did, but it won't change anything. I'd only be doing it to make myself feel better, to maybe make this easier to live with.

Then again, I'm not sure any alternate ending is going to be easier to live with. Because no matter what, whether he storms out on me or we part with kind words and a hug (not fucking likely), it's still an ending. We're still over.

And that still hurts.

I've barely taken a breath, let alone made an attempt to close the door, when Taylor suddenly appears in my apartment again. It leaves me so fucking stupefied that all I can do as he stalks purposefully towards me is stand here and stare at him like a total fucking idiot. I finally manage to open my mouth to ask him what he's doing, but he doesn't give me the chance to get a single word out.

He kisses me.                                   

And as his lips crash into mine, I'm hit by an undeniable feeling of " _this_ is _it_ ".

This feeling is everything I've been missing, everything I've been _craving_ since I was stupid enough to let it go. It's what I was desperately searching for in those pointless one night stands, it's what I search for every fucking time I kiss Liz, even though I know it won't be there. I've only ever felt this way when I'm with Taylor, and I'm agonizingly aware of the fact that once this kiss is over I'm never going to feel it again.

 _Fuck_ , I can't do this!

I can't let him go.

There isn't one single cell in my body that wants to stop kissing him. There's a voice in my head screaming at me to take this further, to be as close to him as I possibly can be. Because if this really is it for us, don't we at least deserve that much? Shouldn't we get to feel that absolute _relief_ from this loneliness one last time if we're going to be forced to live with it for the rest of our lives?

This isn't fucking fair!

Why can't I just keep him? We're so damn good together! Why does kissing him feel like this if it doesn't mean anything, if it's not _enough_?

Deep down I know the answer. I know why what we have isn't enough to change anything. Maybe it could have been, at one point, but not now. We might have had a chance somewhere in amongst all of that fucked up uncertainty, but it's long gone.

He's married. He has four kids, soon to be five. It was hard enough for him to leave them before, now it's impossible.

And that's why I _can't_ let this go any further, no matter how fucking badly I want it to. Yeah, it might bring us a momentary sense of comfort, but it'll only make it more excruciating when he has to get out of my bed and go back to his wife.

"Fuck..." I force myself to pull away before I somehow change my own mind. Ripping off a band-aid is supposed to hurt less than prying it off slowly, but the sudden feel of nothing but thin air against my lips stings more than a little. "I can't."

"Tommy-"

"No." I cut him off, wiping my eyes quickly as I take a breath and attempt to harden my heart against him. It's never easy to do when he says my name in that tone of voice; it gets me every fucking time. "You don't get it, _I can't_. You think the last couple of months have been a cakewalk for me? They've been fucking _hell_ , and I can't do it again. _Nothing's_ changed. You're gonna leave; you have to, we both know it, and that's fine. I get it. But if you're gonna go you need to do it now, because just standing here with you like this _hurts_ , and it's not fucking fair!"

"I know." He sighs softly, his voice faltering for a second as his eyes well with more tears. "I'm sorry, Tommy. That's all I was going to say. I'm sorry for flirting with you in that bar when I knew I shouldn't, and for ever letting it go any further than that when I knew how messy and complicated it would get. For dragging it out for so long when I knew it was hurting you the whole time. And for not leaving her the second I realized that you were the person I was _supposed_ to spend my life with. I never meant to hurt you, _ever_. I never meant for things to end up like this, for you to have to go through this. I don't wish I'd never met you, I _couldn't,_ but... I wish for your sake that you'd never met me. I'm just... I'm _so_ sorry for all of it. For everything."

Of all the things I expected him to say to me, _none_ of that was on the list. I hadn't prepared myself for an apology, I was only ready for more fighting. Whether it was another all out argument, or merely trying to shield myself against what he and I both wish could happen between us right now. I was waiting for a battle, for him to break down what little resolve I had left.

And instead, he's the one full of resolve.

I guess I should catch the fuck up and try to think of something to say, but...

 _Is_ there anything left to say?

He takes a step back, and I feel a nauseating surge of panic, a sense urgency. If I don't stop him, he's going to walk away. But if I do stop him... what then? What do we do? There _is_ nothing to do. Nothing can change this total fucking mess we've wound up in. The only thing left is to get this goodbye over with and get on with our lives.

Only I can't _say_ goodbye.

So I don't say anything at all.

The last time I watched him walk out of my apartment like this, he was a wreck. He was beyond confused, I'd blindsided him in the worst way possible. All I wanted to do was take it back, beg him to stay, but I couldn't. That part hasn't changed, but this time _I'm_ the wreck and he's no longer confused. Everything has been laid bare between us. Maybe he can find some kind of peace now.

Maybe we both can.

I just wish he didn't feel the need to apologize for what we had. No, it wasn't always pretty, and a lot of the time it was painful as hell. I missed him when he wasn't around, and my heart fucking _ached_ knowing that he wasn't really mine even when he _was_ with me. But all of the longing and loneliness aside... what I felt for him was the most unbelievable thing I've ever experienced. When we were together, it was like everything just fit. It was like I finally figured out where I wanted to be. I wasn't frantically looking around for an excuse to leave, I wasn't wishing I was elsewhere. I was done searching.

I was _done_ ; he was _it_.

And even if I can't have him, even if I'm gonna spend the rest of my fucking life searching for something I'll never find again... I don't regret it. I wouldn't take back a _single_ second I spent with him. If I could go back to that bar and not kiss him, I wouldn't. If I could take back that first text I sent him after the night we met, or if I could go back and get on the tour bus in Thackerville, or get on the plane to L.A. with my band mates instead of driving down to Portland to be with him... I wouldn't.

I'm _not_ sorry.

And if there's one last thing I want to say to him, that would be it.           

But of course it's too fucking late now. He's gone. And by the time I've figured out how to get my feet to move in order to get over to the door and out onto the walkway in front of my apartment, I can't even see him down on the street. There's a figure in the distance, but for all I know it's not even him.

I should've known I wasn't done fucking this up.

I don't want him to spend the rest of his life believing that I wish I'd never met him. I want him to know that we weren't a mistake in my eyes, that what we were isn't something I'll always look back on with regret. He was the first guy I ever fell in love with. The first _anyone_ I ever fell in love with. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I _need_ him to know that.

Even though it's not the ideal way to do it, I fish my phone out of my pocket and click on the text message icon. Our last conversation is buried under dozens of others that I've had over the last couple of months, but after scrolling through them all for a moment or two, I quickly stop at the sight of his name and gently tap my thumb on it. Our last few messages to each other fill the screen, and I take a few seconds to read over them, smiling fondly at the playful banter.

I still remember the very _first_ text I ever sent him.

I remember sitting in that bar after he left, after he apologized for kissing me and ditching me. I remember feeling this pang of... something. At the time I chalked it up to me being drunk and horny. I figured I was just frustrated that I wasn't getting any action anymore. But really, I missed him. I missed his presence, I missed having him beside me on that couch. I missed his shy smile, I missed the way his eyes shone in the low light of the bar, I missed the way he smelled, and the way goosebumps would erupt all over my arms if he so much as came within a fucking _inch_ of touching me. And then he was gone, and everything was just... less.

But I wasn't sorry for the hour I'd spent in his company, and I didn't want him to think I was. So I sent him a text. Short and sassy (just like me). I guess there's no better way to bookend this whole thing than with the exact same sentiments.

Only this time there's nothing sassy about them. They're totally sincere.

_Don't be. I'm not._


	5. Day 188

_ Burbank, California - December 24th, 2011 _

 

I'm not really a Christmas person.

I mean, I don't hate it or anything. I don't shut myself away in my apartment muttering, "Bah! Humbug!" and refusing to celebrate. I like going over to my mom's house for dinner on Christmas Eve, and seeing my extended family and friends at various get-togethers and parties over the holidays. But I don't get into it to the extent that some people do.

Like my girlfriend.

I swear, it's like she OD'd on eggnog and gingerbread this year or something. Every time I've seen her since Thanksgiving she's cheerfully greeted me by announcing how many days are left until Christmas. She hums carols to herself _all_ the time, she's been on a Christmas movie kick for weeks, and yesterday she texted me a picture of her kitchen and it looked like a Christmas themed bakery set up shop! I'm sure I'll be on the receiving end of some of those stocking shaped cookies, which is just what I fucking need. _More_ food. That's all anyone fucking does at this time of year, is eat!

Oh yeah, and she went and did this whole "Twelve Days of Christmas" thing for me that made me feel like a total douche bag for not doing something just as elaborate for her. I've received a gift every day for almost two fucking weeks now, and it's _really_ amped up the pressure I feel to get her something pretty damn special to equal it somehow. I'm dreading Christmas morning, because I _know_ that whatever gift she's saving for last is probably going to be sweet and sentimental... possibly even handmade _by_ her. And all I got her was a ring.

Not _that_ kind of ring!

She hasn't even met my family yet, no way am I ready to ask her to _join_ it! It's just a... ring.

Fuck, what if she doesn't realize it's just a ring?! I mean, it doesn't look _anything_ like an engagement ring. It's not even in a box, it's in a little velvet bag. But knowing my lucky she's gonna open the damn thing and start hyperventilating and shit.

Maybe I should run out and get her something else instead?

Damnit, I _suck_ at this stuff. This is why I prefer to be single from my birthday until at least the day after Valentine's day! I hate the heightened expectations, whether it's what gifts to buy or whether or not to invite whoever I'm seeing to family gatherings, it all just sucks. If I'm single I can relax and enjoy myself. But I don't see me relaxing much tonight. Tonight, I get to introduce Liz to my mom. There's no going back after that, which is why I've made every effort to avoid doing it with other girls I've dated. It's one thing for my mom to know I'm seeing someone, it's another thing entirely for her to get to know them. It's like it gives her the right to ask much more probing questions about the relationship whenever she sees me, or even to communicate with whoever it is I'm seeing without asking me first.

That's just not fucking right!

Last year was so much simpler.

Well... sort of.

Being in a relationship with a married man meant that I didn't have to worry about bringing him over to my mom's house for Christmas Eve dinner, which was definitely a plus. What I had to worry about instead was when (or _if_ ) he'd be able to sneak away from his wife and kids in order to call me and say "Merry Christmas". Being single on Christmas had never felt lonely to me before, not really. But being crazy about a guy I couldn't be with made it the loneliest Christmas _ever_.

And the fact that it was the first Christmas without dad around didn't help.

I doubt that empty feeling will be absent from our family dinner this year, or any year from here on out. I think we've all accepted that it's never gonna be the same; we're always gonna know something is missing even if we do our best to pretend everything is fine. It's a feeling I've become more and more familiar with these past few months. No one besides Isaac knows it's an act, because no one else knows what happened with Taylor this summer. Some of my friends figured out that something wasn't right, but I brushed of their questions and concern and eventually they stopped asking what was wrong. Eventually, I got better at keeping up appearances. It was like nothing ever happened, at least while I was around other people.

It was pretty fucking exhausting, to be honest.

By the end of the day, _every_ day, I'd collapse onto my bed feeling like I'd been drained of every last shred of energy I had.

But I wouldn't sleep. I _couldn't_ sleep.

So I'd lie in bed for hours on end, and I'd think about him. Whenever I caught myself doing it, I'd force myself to focus on something else, something that had absolutely nothing to do with him so that there was no way I could possibly associate it with him and somehow find my way back to picturing his face on my ceiling. But it never worked for long.

I'd always, always find my way back to him.

I still do. Every day.

Every damn day, I think about him.

On my birthday, I woke up to at least two dozen "Happy Birthday!" texts. And even though I _knew_ none of them were from him, my heart still sank as I scrolled through them in search of his name and came up empty. Every time someone called or texted me that day, my breath would catch in my throat. But it was never him. And why would it be? We'd said our heart wrenching goodbyes, we'd gone our separate ways. He had no reason to try to contact me again.

But I wanted him to.

 _So_ fucking badly.

I missed him. I missed his voice, and his laugh... I even missed the soft sound of his calm, even breathing in the quiet moments where we would simply sit on opposite ends of the phone line. Which is why, in a moment of drunken insanity mere minutes before midnight on my birthday, I shut myself away in a bathroom stall at the bar my friends had chosen to throw my "party" at, and I spent a good ten minutes staring at his contact info on my phone and trying to convince myself to call him.

Or maybe I was trying to convince myself _not_ to.

I'm honestly not sure anymore. And I'm not really sure if I succeeded or failed. I tapped his number, and the call screen came up that said it was connecting. So, obviously, I freaked the fuck out and hit "End Call" so quickly that I almost dropped my phone in the fucking toilet, and the call never actually went through.

At least, I assume it didn't; he never called or texted me back.

Then, on Thanksgiving, I was sitting around the dinner table at Liz's parent's house and thinking back on last year's Thanksgiving and how different everything had been. I was in Italy with Adam and the rest of the band, we were having the time of our lives. But I felt like shit about it, because my mom and sister were back in Burbank spending their first Thanksgiving without dad _or_ me, and my mom was totally falling apart over it. I felt helpless and horrible. And even though Isaac and Adam tried to reassure me that I wasn't the worst person on the planet, I couldn't believe them. So I texted Taylor. He was the one person I felt like I _needed_ to talk to. He had been for a while at that point, and it scared the shit out of me to admit it. But everything made more sense when I talked it out with him. He made sense of me.

After dinner at the Hill house, I drove back to Burbank alone. Liz stayed at her parent's place to go shopping the next day with her sister. Honestly, I was glad not to have her accompany me home. In my experience, it's a little less painful to feel alone when I _am_ alone. If I feel alone while I'm with other people, it just makes everything harder somehow.

And I think I knew that I'd end up texting him.

Well... almost.

After watching a few movies and downing more than a few beers, I took my phone out, opened a blank text, and typed his name in the "To" field. Then I wrote "Happy Thanksgiving" and sat with my thumb poised over the send button for so long that I swear it started to cramp up. But before I could work up the nerve to hit send, I made myself delete his name and replace it with Isaac's. I sent the text, took a sleeping pill, downed the last of my drink, and went to bed. 

When I hear a knock at the door, I resignedly grab the remote off of the couch cushion beside me and turn the TV off. I wasn't watching whatever the hell was on, but I'm still annoyed that I have to stop not-watching it to go and be festive. I'm _really_ not in the mood.

As soon as I open the door to Liz, I feel entirely underdressed. I usually do in her presence, she always makes more of an effort than I do, but tonight she's gone above and beyond. And here I am looking like a total fucking slob in a t-shirt and jeans. This is what I wear to Christmas Eve dinner every year, and I've never gotten any complaints. Even Liz doesn't look disappointed by my outfit choice. But for some dumbass reason I feel ashamed anyway. 

Her hair and makeup are done to flawless perfection, her dress fits like a glove, and the giddy smile on her face makes her look even more beautiful than usual. Before I can so much as tell her how nice she looks, she whips a piece of mistletoe out from behind her back and holds it aloft between us.

"Happy Christmas Eve!" She giggles, leaning in and planting an exaggerated kiss on my lips. "Ready to go?"

Not as ready as she is, clearly. "Sure."

Let's get this over with.

She laces her fingers with mine while I pull the front door closed behind me and quickly lock it, then I try my best not to plod along so slowly that she'll be able to feel me pulling back as she leads me down to where her car is parked. The moment she starts the engine, the radio comes to life. Christmas music fills the confined space inside the car, and I bite my tongue to keep myself from asking her if we can _please_ listen to _anything_ else. Every time we've gone anywhere in her car this month, the radio has been tuned into the same station, playing the same songs again and again. Sometimes it's more tolerable than others, especially when they're playing some halfway decent classics. The days when they're playing shitty cover versions of "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree", or whatever new Christmas music some Disney tween just recorded, I kinda wanna throw myself out of the car.

Liz sings along to every single song that comes on without missing a beat. She knows them all by heart (which isn't a fucking surprise, given how many times she's probably heard each and every one of them since Thanksgiving). In an effort to be a good boyfriend and avoid being labeled a "Cotton Headed Ninny Muggins" _again_ , I stay silent and make sure to flash her a reassuring smile whenever she casts a glance my way.

But I can't _not_ protest when some whiney-ass song starts playing. "Jingle Bell Rock" and "All I Want For Christmas" are one form of torture, but I can't deal with this melancholy crap right now. So, of course, she turns it up.

_It's coming on Christmas_

_They're cutting down trees_

_They're putting up reindeer_

_And singing songs of joy and peace_

_Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on..._

"Can we listen to something else?" I ask hopefully.

"But I _love_ this song!" She immediately objects, pouting at me as we come to a stop at a red light. "Joni Mitchell is one of my heroes!"

_I'm so hard to handle_

_I'm selfish and I'm sad_

_Now I've gone and lost the best baby_

_That I ever had_

_Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on_

_I wish I had a river so long_

_I would teach my feet to fly_

_Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on_

_I made my baby say goodbye..._

I spend the remainder of the car ride staring out of the window at the lights of Burbank as they pass us in a Christmas colored blur. At first I try to fight off any thoughts of him that attempt to invade my gloomy mind, but there are dozens of them clamoring to be let in. By the time we get to my mom's house, I'm well and truly entrenched in a Taylor-trance. I get them from time to time. Even though I think about him every day, without fail, I can usually make myself stop as soon as I realize I'm starting to dwell on memories of him. But the times when I can't, the times when those memories overwhelm me, I end up in what I've come to think of as a "Taylor-trance". They're hard to break out of, sometimes they last for entire days. I'm pretty sure this one is gonna stick with me all fucking night, which is bound to make this little get together even more fun for me than it was already going to be.

 

My family, of course, _loves_ Liz. Why wouldn't they? She's chatty and sweet and gracious, equally as excited to get to know all of them as they are to get to know her. Which is great, actually, 'cause it means no one really gives a shit if I say anything or not. I do my best to smile and participate when necessary, but unless I'm being talked to directly I mostly just zone out and stare at the Christmas tree sitting in the corner.

 

I wonder what Taylor is doing right now.

 

Probably something similar to this, I guess. Only with ten times more people, because his family is fucking huge. I bet they're all sitting around someone's living room, with a roaring fire and hot cocoa, watching " _It's a Wonderful Life_ " or " _Miracle on 34th Street_ " or something. And the kids, with Christmas cookie crumbs around their mouths, are all begging to be allowed to open just _one_ present before they go to bed.

 

Natalie's probably snuggled up to him on the couch, her hand gently stroking her enormous baby bump. He's probably got his arm around her...

 

I wonder if he's happy.

 

I wonder if he's thinking about me.

 

With visions of Taylor's perfect family Christmas dancing in my head all through _my_ family dinner, I feel like an absolute asshole. I feel even worse when I still see nothing but his face while watching Liz's chosen Christmas movie at my apartment after dinner. But I hit rock bottom right around the time I find myself lying in bed beside her, watching her sleeping peacefully, and wishing it was him instead.

 

What the hell is wrong with me?

 

He was a fucking _mess_. A lifelong, incurable closet case, married with kids, in and out of a totally screwed up incestuous relationship with his _brother_ , drowning in decades worth of guilt, completely incapable of recognizing his own self-worth... we made no sense! We had too many issues between the two of us to have ever had a healthy relationship!

 

Liz is... simple. Mostly. I mean, we have our differences, but we make it work. And seeing her with my family tonight, seeing how much they liked her, it made sense. This is the most comfortable I've ever been while in a "serious" relationship. It's the longest I've been with a girl without getting bored or wanting to sabotage everything somehow. I can see myself making this work. I could do this indefinitely and be happy.

 

Or not _unhappy_ , at least.

 

And that's what _really_ pisses me off!

 

 _Why_ aren't I happy? What the fuck more do I want?!

 

I'm such an ungrateful little shit. Any other guy would be asleep right now. They'd be content. Any _normal_ guy would've had sex with the gorgeous woman sharing his bed and then passed the fuck out! They wouldn't be lying beside her, wishing she was someone more complicated, someone more unattainable, someone more fucked up.

 

Someone more.

 

I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to her. _She's_ the one who deserves more, not me.

 

It has to end.

 

 _I_ have to end it.

 

I carefully push myself up against the pillows behind me, keeping a close eye on Liz to make sure that I'm not disturbing her. Luckily, she just sighs softly and rolls over in her sleep. Once I'm sure that she's not going to wake up and ask me what the hell I'm doing, I pick my iPhone up off of my nightstand. It's been weeks since I last searched for his name in my text messages. The last time was Thanksgiving, and even then I didn't let myself read any of them. But since this is the last time I'll be able to do it, I let myself indulge in this moment of self-destructive behavior.

 

After tonight, all that's left of what we were will be gone.

 

Every secret shared, every joke told, every embarrassing attempt at being flirtatious, every pointless late night emoticon battle, every silly selfie he sent me when I needed cheering up...

 

Every last letter of these conversations we had will be lost.

 

It takes me over an hour to stop going through them all. The only reason I force myself to call it quits is because my eyes are stinging from lack of sleep, and I don't want to fall asleep without finishing what I started. I know all of this conviction I have right now will be gone when I wake up tomorrow, and who knows when I'll find it again.

 

I tap the icon to take me back to my list of text conversations, and then the one to edit them. A small circle appears beside his name, and I swallow the painfully hard lump in my throat as I tentatively tap on it. Some stupid part of me was hoping it wouldn't work, that I tapped too lightly and it wouldn't turn blue. But it does. And the 'Delete' option at the bottom of the screen comes to life instantly.

 

I _desperately_ don't want to tap on it. I don't want to erase all of these words we shared.

 

But I _need_ to.

 

Holding on to them, to him, is holding me back from getting the hell on with my life.

 

So after I've finally worked up the nerve to delete our entire conversation history from my phone, I go one step further. And this step is even more difficult to take.

 

I find his name in my contacts, trying my hardest _not_ to look at his picture when I open the page. I can't count the number of times I've found myself here in the past six months, daring myself to click the call button, or simply staring at our smiling faces and thinking about the night the picture was taken, and the night we met, and the nights we spent together in between. There were only a handful of them, really, but it always felt like hundreds. So much happened between us, I knew him _so_ well, I felt closer to him than anyone else in my life. It always seemed so impossible to me that we'd spent so much of our relationship (if it could even be called that) so far apart. I remembered the moments we spent together more vividly than I remembered the _months_ I spent with anyone else I'd ever had a relationship with.

 

But we don't have a relationship anymore. We don't have anything. Except a past that plagues me and keeps me from having a future.

 

There's no reason for me to have his number on my phone. I'm not going to call him or text him again, no matter how many times I come close to doing it. And I think having it here, having that last link to him, gives me some kind of sick hope that someday I'll need it. Someday I'll have a valid reason to call him. Or even better, he'll call me. And I'll see his picture and his name fill my phone screen, and somehow it'll change _everything_...

 

But that's just _not_ gonna happen.

 

I need to let go of that hope, and let go of him.

 

So I hit delete and watch him disappear.


End file.
